


On The Ropes

by coffeeandcas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Project Rebirth, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Top Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Tomorrow, they'll target a moving train in an attempt to capture Arnim Zola and make him pay for his crimes.Tonight, Bucky just wants to be with Steve.





	On The Ropes

**Author's Note:**

> *Peers nervously into new fandom and waves*

_1945._

Tomorrow will become the first day of the rest of his life. But Bucky Barnes doesn't know that yet. All he knows is that tonight he's cold, he's tired, he's a little drunk, and he's spending it with Steve.

They've set up camp in a hidden alcove halfway up the mountain, secluded by trees, but within earshot of the railway line that will become their target come morning. Three tents between them all, and he’s sharing with Steve of course. He doesn’t like to say they’re _inseparable_ , exactly, but since the Austrian Alps they’ve definitely spent more time together than ever before. And that’s saying something. They grew up together, Bucky spending half his life kicking the asses of anyone who dared mess with Steve. They lived together. They shared a bed when the weather turned cold, they shared meals and cheap beer when they could get their hands on it. But since their separation and reunion, they've been closer than ever. And for that, Bucky is thankful.

He's Steve's biggest cheerleader, the guy who always has Captain America’s back. The expert sniper of the Howling Commandos. The guy who survived HYDRA and lived to tell the tale - or to keep the details to himself, as the case may be. Some people think he's a hero. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Captain America’s best friend, World War II soldier and veteran, ready for anything. He can play that part like a pro. Yet inside, when he's quiet and alone and has space to think, he doesn't feel anything like the man everyone paints him to be. He feels broken, like a cracked pane of glass, unable to mend himself or stand anyone else trying to.

He sits on a tarp, on the edge of their camp, half-listening to Gabe and Jim heckling each other, and sips more sour-tasting whiskey to try and numb the pain of his thoughts. Perhaps it's the knowledge that soon he'll be closer to Zola than he can stand, but the nightmares are coming thick and fast. He's managed to hide them from Steve by keeping a weird sleep schedule and only allowing himself to drop off for a few hours when he knows he's alone with nobody in earshot. He doesn't want anyone to see him jolting awake, reaching out blindly, covered in stale sweat and, sometimes, his own cold piss. Those times are the worst, making excuses for washing his clothes more regularly than the rest of the or purposely dirtying them up so it doesn't look suspicious. More than once he's sure Steve has worked it out, his blue eyes flashing at Bucky in concern and suspicion. But his friend says nothing and Bucky is thankful for that. Steve has enough on his mind with being America’s poster boy. He doesn't need Bucky’s mediocre problems as well.

The sound of boots on the fresh snow behind him makes him twist to see who it is - although realistically only one person would approach him when he's sitting off on his own and clearly doesn't want to be bothered by anybody. It's Steve, of course, and he's wearing a smile which somehow manages to be a perfect balance between friendly and concerned.

“Why are you sitting all the way over here on your own?” Is his opening line and Bucky chuckles to himself, swigging from the flask again.

“Because I wanted to be alone, genius. Drink?” He holds up the hip flask he's been swigging from, smiling crookedly up at Steve.

“A bit pointless, don’t you think?” Steve replies, sitting down a few feet from Bucky on a protruding rock. It looks mighty uncomfortable, so Bucky moves up a bit on his tarp and gestures at the now empty space.

“Kept a spot warm for you, Cap. No sense in you freezing your ass off over there. C’mon.” He shuffles up a little more, right to the edge of the tarp. “I don’t bite.”

Steve smiles, shakes his head, but does as Bucky asks and settles at his side, pressed against him to conserve body heat. He’s like a furnace these days, the serum regulating his body temperature so he’s never too hot or too cold, so far removed from what Bucky remembers of when they were kids. But he’s so damn cold himself that he huddles in, knees drawn up and elbows resting on them as he swigs from his hip flask.

“Any good?”

“Mmm,” Bucky shrugs. “It’s not bad.” He hands it to Steve who takes an obedient sip, then smirks as his friend starts to cough and choke. “But it ain’t good, either.”

“Well, you keep that to yourself. At least it’ll get you drunk. It seems wasted on me.” They both stare off down into the ravine where the railway lines are visible in the daylight.

“I’m sure with enough hard liquor we could get you buzzed. Let’s try it when we get home.”

Steve smiles at him but doesn’t say anything in response. God, Bucky loves that smile. Sometimes it just catches him off guard, makes his heart jump a little in his chest, especially when he’s had a few good days and hasn’t been consumed with his all-consuming, unrequited love for his best friend. Now, that love threatens to choke him like a noose and he has to look away or Steve is going to see it written all over his face.

They lean in a little closer, conserving heat as they always do, and Bucky falls into a brooding silence. He remembers Red Skull, straps across his chest, vomiting, calling Steve’s name. He shivers and Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently. They still don’t speak. It’s companionable, not awkward, especially since all Bucky wants to do is fall into Steve’s arms and beg for them to just leave together, right now, fuck HYDRA, they can run away together. It would be the weak thing to do, the coward’s way out. But hell if it wouldn’t be amazing.

He’s never told Steve just how relieved he was when his best friend’s blue eyes came into blurry view above his head, when he was almost incoherent with pain and fatigue. He had thought he was hallucinating at first, because he’d done that a lot. Then Steve had wrapped an arm around him, hauled him to his feet, and he’d buried his face in his friend’s neck and just _inhaled_ and that confirmed it all for him. Steve Rogers, his Steve, had come to save him. He was sure that one day it would be the other way around, but Steve had always been adept at surprising him.

“Do you, uh, remember when you found me? At the weapons base?”

Bucky purposefully keeps his eyes on the snowy ground in front of him, his fingers gripping the hip flask a little tighter. His own voice surprises him a little. He’s not quite sure what might come out next. Next to him, Steve nods.

“I remember, Buck. I’d never been so scared. I thought you were dead.”

“And I thought you were-”

“Shorter, yeah, I got that.” Steve’s smile is short-lived. “What did you want to say?”

Bucky falls silent, listening to the wind as it rustles through the trees, the low murmur of voices not too far from them. The other Howling Commandos, turning in for the night, getting their rest in time for tomorrow. Smart. He should be doing the same. But instead, he’s sitting on the frozen ground with Steve and, quite honestly, he could sit here all night. Just the pair of them, like it used to be, before the war. Before combat changed them, before the serum changed Steve and torture changed Bucky. But while Steve is still recognisable as a new and improved version of his old self, Bucky feels like a shadow. A ghost. A walking dead man on borrowed time, and it’s eating him up inside. It’s entirely thanks to Steve that he’s even here at all, and he’s never been able to figure out how to pay him back.

“I saw you,” is what he says, speaking deliberately to his hands. “I saw you. A lot. When they were… doing whatever it was they were doing to me, I saw you. You were there, in the background, talking to me. Reassuring me that I’d be okay, that I’d get through it all. That you’d be waiting for me at the end.” He laughs hollowly. “Of course, the times you said that I kinda freaked the hell out and assumed you were dead and I was on my way there too. I didn’t know where you were, what had happened to you… You never replied to my letters. Or if you did I didn’t get them because we’d been…” He scrubs a hand over his face. This is the most he’s talked about it all since he was taken, and it feels like the words are physically hurting his throat as they tear free. The wind whips savagely through his hair, burning his cheeks and making his eyes sting and well up. He wipes at them quickly, not wanting Steve to mistake them for genuine tears. He hasn’t cried in front of Steve since they were teenagers, and he sure isn’t going start now. “But I saw you. And… You helped. Even though you weren’t really there. You made it bearable. I knew I could get through anything they did to me so long as you kept looking at me and talking to me and telling me to hold on.”

There’s a silence that seems to go on for decades. Bucky shivers, sips his whiskey, waits. He’s said too much, he’s sure. He shouldn’t have run his mouth off to Steve, not right now, not tonight when tomorrow is looming and they need to keep their focus. He opens his mouth to apologise, but Steve gets there first.

“You thought of me?” His voice strains a little and Bucky almost doesn’t hear him. “When they had you, you thought of me?”

“Every day.” Bucky says firmly, chancing a look at Steve, a look which he almost regrets. The blond’s face is riddled with pain and regret, and he’s staring at Bucky as though seeing him properly for the first time. Perhaps seeing him properly for the first time since HYDRA and the torture. Perhaps seeing what really happened to Bucky, and how much he’s been holding in. “You were my reason for staying alive. I thought that if I just held on a little longer, something would happen. I’d get back to you somehow.” He manages a crooked half-smile. “I didn’t, though. You got to me.”

“I did, Buck. And I’d do it all over again if I had to. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

And shit, _that_ brings immediate tears sparking to the corner of his eyes and he has to look back down at his knees. Because it’s the same thing he’d say to Steve all the time when they were young, and he’d meant it with his whole heart. And hearing it now, he knows Steve means it with everything he has and then some. He’d do anything for Bucky, always would. But now he has the power to keep him safe, and somehow that’s a comfort.

“I’m scared, Cap.” He murmurs to his own hands. “And fuck, I shouldn’t be. You didn’t drag my ass out of hell to be scared of shit. You need a soldier. Someone strong, someone you can rely on. Not… Not me.”

“Buck, what the hell are you talking about?” Steve’s voice is firm, low, and the curse startles Bucky into looking up at him. “If you _weren’t_ scared, I’d be asking if you hit your head. After what Zola did to you, anyone would be scared of facing him again.” He squeezes Bucky’s thigh, his hand warm and hot through the layers of fabric. Bucky’s skin prickles beneath the touch. “But you’re here. _We’re_ here. And you're the best man I've ever known. We’re doing this together, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bucky drains the last of the cheap liquor, recaps the flask, tosses it away towards their tent. “Promise me something, though.”

“Anything.”

“Once this is all over, we take a vacation. A good one. Coney Island, maybe. Dancing, drinking, just like old times. Only more girls for you this time around.” His attempt at joviality falls flat, he hears the tension in his own voice and he trails off, staring off into the trees. A cloud begins to make its slow journey across the moon, throwing them into shadow.

Steve doesn’t answer right away, and Bucky doesn’t try to force him. He knows full well why Steve is stalling: they might not make it out of all this alive. And even if they do, and they manage some sort of vacation together where the eyes of the world aren’t fixed upon Captain America, they might not be able to leave all this behind them. Bucky certainly can’t. The living hell of the Austrian Alps will be imprinted on Bucky’s memory for life, no matter where he goes or who he’s with. But if he’s with Steve, it might just be bearable.

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve is saying and Bucky leans into him, seeking warmth. Seeking, desperately, comfort. “We can go to Coney Island. I’ll take you to Coney Island.”

 

***

 

The winter air causes their breath to turn to fog the second it leaves their lips. The tent smells of stale sweat, damp clothing, and each other. They huddle side by side on their backs in their tents, layers of blankets on top of them, yet still Bucky shivers with the cold. He knows Steve isn’t asleep, and he’s pretty sure Steve knows he isn’t either. But neither of them speaks. Their hands are just brushing, Steve’s pinky finger against Bucky’s wrist, and it’s taking all his strength and self-control not to move and link their fingers together. The sick, cloying feeling in his chest hasn’t abated - if anything, it’s getting worse. The feeling that he’s going to lose something precious to him very soon, that something fundamental in his life is about to change.

He feels… different, these days. He’s noticing subtle changes in his own body, changes he doesn’t dare tell anyone about, not even Steve. He doesn’t know what they did to him in Austria, not entirely - he was either unconscious or dissociated for most of it, and he thinks that’s a blessing of sorts. The nightmares are bad enough, he doesn’t need the associated memories to boot. But his body betrays him from time to time, hinting at lasting effects from whatever they had injected into him. He vaguely remembers the needles, the IV lines taped to his arms, the fluid seeping down clear tubes into his veins as he screamed himself raw in protest and fear. He remembers swallowing tepid, rusty water laced with drugs because his thirst overruled his self-preservation. He remembers being cold.

Small cuts and grazes now seem to heal faster than they used to. He sleeps less yet doesn’t feel fatigued. Bruises fade. He’s avoided the same cold and flu viruses that the other Commandos have furiously suffered through. He eats less. It all frightens him.

He shifts carefully, not wanting to draw Steve’s attention. The way they’re lying so tightly pressed together is reminiscent of their time in Brooklyn, where they shared a spectacularly crappy apartment after Steve lost his mom, where Bucky went out to work two jobs and came home more often than not to find Steve either sick or asleep. Those days had been rough on them both, but looking back on them now Bucky would give his left arm to be there again, in that damp, draughty studio overlooking a run down factory where rats lingered on the street corners and the summer heat made the streets stink of sewage and rot. Steve would spend his days drawing, cooking if he could, waiting up for Bucky to come home. Bucky would go out dancing and come home smelling of some dame’s perfume and laugh at Steve’s screwed up nose and distasteful expression. So Bucky would do it again, and again, and again, he would date any woman who would have him and spend more nights away from their studio in the arms of ladies who he could barely remember in the mornings. Because that’s what a guy does when he realises he’s in love with his best friend, the best friend who he can never have: he overcompensates.

Then the war came, separating them. Saying goodbye to Steve had been like losing a limb. But finding him again, _being_ found by him again, that had been like seeing the sun after years in captivity. Finding an oasis after being lost in a desert. Falling in love all over again. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve whispers, and Bucky blinks himself awake a while later.

“Huh?”

“You were talking in your sleep,” Steve says simply, squeezing Bucky’s fingers, and he realises that they’re holding hands now. “Dreaming?”

“Nightmare.” There’s a sour taste in his mouth, bile in the back of his throat which he swallows with a wince. Zola’s face fades from his memory until all he can see is the tent above him. “Have you slept?”

“No. I’m keeping a lookout.”

Bucky turns on his side, not letting go of Steve’s hand, and scrutinises him in the darkness. His best friend is lying right where he was an hour ago, on his back staring up at the flimsy roof of their tent as it moves in the breeze. Their breath has made it damp in here. The others are quiet now, the glow of their campfire extinguished.It’s only him and Steve awake, feels like they’re the only two awake in the entire world.

Steve turns to look at him and his blue eyes seem to glow in the dim light.

“Get some sleep, Buck. It’s okay.”

“I’d rather stay awake.” _With you._

Steve smiles at him, and it’s a soft, fond smile, one Bucky has seen a hundred times before but not for a very, very long time. “I’d like that.”

They're close now, Steve watching Bucky and Bucky staring right back. Like old times, except an entire lifetime feels like it's come between them.

“It's all for you, Buck, you know that?” Steve reaches out and tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “Zola, HYDRA, all of it. I want them gone as much as the next person, but for what they did to you… I want them to suffer.”

“I'll help you with that. Get in line, Cap.”

“Don't call me that.” It's soft, barely reproachful. Steve's hand hasn't moved from where he adjusted Bucky’s hair. “It's always been just us, right? Me and you against the world.”

“Only now the world’s out to get us.”

“And we’re here to stop it.”

“It’s always been you, Steve.” He traces a pattern onto his best friend’s chest with a thumb. “Always.”

“Bucky…”

He doesn’t know how they end up kissing. He doesn’t know who moved first, whether he leaned in or whether Steve reached for him and pulled him close. All he knows is that Steve’s mouth is on his, that Steve’s arm is around his waist, pulling him in, that his other hand is tangling in Bucky’s hair at an awkward angle, messing it up, combing it through, making Bucky sigh deeply. Steve feels warm and solid against his chest, and he didn’t realise until now just how touch-starved he’s been, how Steve is the only person he’s allowed into his personal space in months and how he’s frightened of letting him go now in case he slips away entirely. He fists his hands in Steve’s t-shirt, presses in even tighter, and Steve deepens their kiss, tongue seeking entry to Bucky’s mouth and he allows it with a breathy moan.

Steve’s hand tightens in his hair, then he’s being guided onto his back as Steve moves to cover his body with his own and _fuck_ if he doesn’t feel incredible on top of him. Bucky somehow manages to manhandle the sheets away then their bodies are pressing together, Steve holding him down and kissing him deeply, sensually, licking into his open mouth. Bucky’s hand comes up to cup Steve’s face and he wonders briefly if he’s fallen asleep again, if this is the best dream he’s ever had, but then Steve nips his bottom lip hard enough to sting and he knows it’s for real. He laughs against Steve’s mouth and his friend pulls back a little, curiosity in his eyes.

“Something funny, Buck?” His voice is a whisper and he traces Bucky’s bottom lip with a fingertip, the other tangling in Bucky’s hair, his full weight resting on his forearm so he doesn’t crush the man beneath him.

“No. Just… I never thought…” He can’t finish a sentence, doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this to end. He leans up to capture Steve’s mouth again, kissing him with reckless abandon, hungry for more. He feels overheated now, sweaty beneath his clothes, and pulls feverishly at Steve’s t-shirt, pulling it up to expose the skin of his back. He rakes his hands over every inch he can reach, revelling in the feel of firm muscle beneath his fingers. He remembers Steve as that skinny little kid from Brooklyn and he would have wanted him then. _Did_ want him then. But now, this version of Steve is something else and the idea that he can pin Bucky down and kiss him senseless, that he could hold him down and do whatever he liked to him and Bucky would just lie there and take it. Fuck he wants to take it, to take anything Steve can give him. The very thought, vague as it is, brings a moan to his lips and Steve pushes them apart just long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head, to haul Bucky into a half-sitting position to do the same to him, then their bare chests are pressed together and they’re back on their sides, kissing, touching each other everywhere they can reach.

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky gasps out then curses himself for the words. His momma always did say he didn’t know when to shut up, and if he hasn’t just gone and proved it…

“Love you, Buck. Always have,” Steve kisses the panic from him, tasting of mint and whiskey and _Steve_ and Bucky presses in, wanting more, wanting it all. “Always will.”

They manage to shimmy out of their pants, Bucky kicking them aside impatiently and Steve laughing at him as he does, then the nerves hit and Bucky stills in Steve’s arms. For all his fantasising, for all his wanting and hoping and praying for this moment to come, now that it’s here he hasn’t got any idea at all what he should do next. He’s hot and hard between his thighs, a quick glance down at Steve informs him that the other man is just as affected, but he doesn’t have a damn clue what to do now.

“Bucky,” Steve’s hand strays up to his hair again, combing through it, winding strands around his fingers, making Bucky want to go all pliant in his arms and almost start purring. It feels so good. “Relax. Stop thinking.”

Then, before he can even catch his breath and realise what Steve’s doing, a warm, firm hand cups his groin and Bucky’s head tips back as a positively debauched groan leaves his lips. He’s achingly hard against Steve’s palm and he can’t help but push his hips into the stimulation, eager and hot and desperate for more. Steve’s mouth is on his again and he rubs slow circles against Bucky’s cock, kissing him over and over then releasing his mouth to go for his neck instead. Bucky grunts in pleasure as Steve kisses a particularly sensitive spot, his legs falling open to give Steve more access to touch him however he wants.

“Off,” Steve murmurs into his skin, fingers pulling at the thin fabric of Bucky’s underwear. “Get these off, Buck. I need to feel you.”

And if _that_ isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard… All Bucky’s nerves seem to be melting away under Steve’s unwavering control of the situation, and he hooks his thumbs into his waistband and eases his shorts down, kicking them away, then falling back to lie on his back again, tugging feverishly at Steve. There’s too much space between them now, he’s chilled, and Steve seems to sense it because he sits up, works his own underwear off, then before Bucky can get a good look at what’s between his firm thighs Steve is on top of him again, easing Bucky’s legs apart so he can lie between them, then…

“Oh, _god,_ ” Bucky whispers and Steve swallows the words, licking deeply into his mouth as his thick cock slides firmly against Bucky’s and sparks of electric desire shoot up his spine like the Fourth of July fireworks. “ _Steve!_ ”

“Shh,” Steve kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his jawline, his throat, one hand still firmly entangled in his hair and the other sliding between them to tug gently at Bucky’s right nipple. “Quiet, Buck. Don’t want to wake anyone.”

“S-sorry,” he murmurs, arching against the sensations sparking across his chest. Fuck, he had no idea his nipples were so sensitive. Steve raises his hand and presses his thumb to Bucky’s mouth, sliding it in and pressing it to his tongue until Bucky gets the hint and sucks. Then the thumb returns to his nipple, circling it, and Bucky pushes his hips up against Steve, rubbing their cocks together, groaning. “Jesus, Steve.”

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long,” Steve murmurs against his throat. “Wanted to know what you felt like, what you tasted like…” He rocks his hips down and Bucky gasps, hands grabbing at Steve’s ass and fingers digging into the muscle. “What you sounded like when I did this…” He twists Bucky’s nipple and draws a low whimper from him, so he does it again. And again. Bucky is shaking, aching hot with arousal, shivering with need, and he spreads his legs even more, wrapping his legs around Steve’s and anchoring them together.

“Yeah?” He manages to croak back, figuring Steve is probably wanting some kind of response from him other than the physical. “Where did my shy boy from Brooklyn go, huh? Never knew you had these kinda thoughts…” He pinches Steve’s ass, smiling at the sharp thrust of his hips that sparks pleasure between the both of them. “So bad, Stevie, so fucking bad.”

“Shut up, Buck, or I’ll find you something more useful to do with that mouth.” Steve nips his neck, hard enough for him to jerk in pleasure but not enough to mark. He wouldn’t care if Steve _did_ mark him, mark him up real nice so everyone could see it tomorrow. It’d give him the edge he needs, the confidence to go ahead with the mission. The mission…

He freezes in Steve’s arms, suddenly cold, and Steve pulls back to look at him. They’re pressed together from chest to ankles, and Bucky is sure his racing heart is audible in the silence that has fallen upon them, punctuated only by their heavy breathing.

“Buck?”

“Nothing.” He swallows, focusing on Steve’s face for a moment. “It’s nothing.” He separates his hand from Steve’s ass for long enough to cup his jaw, draw him in for another kiss. “Make me forget, Stevie. Just you and me, right? Like always.” Another kiss, shaky, pleading. “Make me forget.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Steve rests his weight on his elbows, both hands coming up to frame Bucky’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “We can talk if you want.”

“No.” He shakes his head, turning to mouth at Steve’s thumb, watching the other man suck a breath in through his teeth. “Talk later. This now.” He licks his lips, leans up for a kiss. “Please, Stevie.”

“Then tell me what you want…” Steve’s mouth lowers to Bucky’s neck again, kissing that same perfect spot, and igniting a full-body shiver that makes him tremble. “My hand?” A kiss to another spot on his throat. “My mouth?” Another kiss. “My fingers…” Bucky’s hips arch. “Yeah? That’s what you want, Buck? My fingers?”

“I… Y-yeah.” Words escape him as Steve’s mouth draws him further down into an aroused stupor. “Want your hand, Stevie. Don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but… I want it.”

“We need something,” Steve murmurs, sitting up and drawing Bucky with him until they’re both upright, Steve straddling his lap. “Have you got anything?”

“Like what?” Bucky asks stupidly, blushing when Steve buries his face in his neck and laughs softly. “Oh. _Oh._ I, uh, maybe in my pack…”

“You have lubricant in your pack?” Steve smiles at him, his eyes sparkling, and leans over to rummage amongst Bucky’s things. “Big plans, hey Buck?”

“Shut up,” His cheeks are flaming but Steve just laughs again, lying down on his back and tugging Bucky to straddle his hips. Now, he can see Steve’s cock perfectly and he swallows at the sight of it, mouth suddenly dry. It’s long, thick, cut, and the tip is glistening with moisture that he suddenly, _desperately_ wants to lean down and taste. So he throws caution to the wind, shimmies back a little, and does just that, drawing a low groan from Steve and a hand tightens in his hair. He licks gently experimentally at Steve’s tip, savouring the new, salty flavour on his tongue as he wraps a hand loosely around his shaft. He’s thicker than Bucky ever imagined, and as he lowers his mouth onto him Bucky already knows that he won’t be able to take it all in.

“Bucky, _god_ , you don’t have to do this…” Steve’s voice cracks a little on the last word as Bucky swirls his tongue underneath the head, pressing it on the underside of the glans, unsure what he’s doing but trying to mimic the things that he likes - used to like - when he spent the night with girls. He seals his lips around Steve’s cock, takes as much into his mouth as he can and sucks, hollowing his cheeks and stroking up and down the rest of the shaft as he sucks. Steve feels good in his mouth, hot and thick, and he tastes musky and _perfect_ and Bucky could do this all freakin’ night. His mouth is watering, creating what he hopes is a perfectly hot, wet sensation for Steve, and by the way the fingers in his hair are tightening and releasing in spasms and Steve’s breath has sed up, he figures he’s doing it right. Or something close to it.

Time passes as he sucks Steve slowly, eyes closed, breathing deeply through his nose and losing himself in the taste and the sensation. His own cock throbs between his legs, neglected, but his own pleasure has faded into the background in favour of giving this to Steve. He deserves it, he deserves incredible pleasure, for someone to take care of him like this. And the fact that it’s _Bucky_ who is allowed to do this…

“C’mere,” Steve rasps, tugging Bucky up and off him, dragging him up and kissing him deeply, pushing his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and no doubt tasting his own precome on Bucky’s lips. “God, you’re perfect. Perfect, Buck. Love you.”

“Want you…”

Settling in Steve’s lap, Bucky looks down at them, at both their cocks pressing together between their bodies, Steve’s wet and glistening and his own thick and dark, desperate for attention. He takes both Steve’s hands, linking their fingers together, then sits up a little and draws Steve’s hand down between his thighs, holding it there, rutting into it. Steve cups his balls, thumb stroking his perineum, and even though Bucky doesn’t quite know how all this is going to work, he’s got the idea. Especially when Steve’s thumb strays a little further back to circle his tight, dry opening and Bucky’s hips jerk as he gasps. Steve has settled back against their blankets, is still holding Bucky’s other hand, and is watching as Bucky rocks shamelessly on his lap, rubbing against his hand. His eyes are roaming over Bucky’s bare chest, down across his stomach, lingering on his cock. Steve licks his lips, squeezes Bucky’s balls then withdraws his hand. Before Bucky can react, Steve has slicked up two fingers and his hand is back there, between Bucky’s thighs, two wet fingers rubbing across his hole.

“ _Oh,_ ” Bucky’s breath leaves him in a gasp and he grips Steve’s fingers, his other hand planting itself on Steve’s chest so he can lean forward and give Steve more room to play with him.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs then the tip of one finger is pushing in and Bucky’s head falls back as his eyes close. It feels… odd. New. Intrusive and strange and not quite good yet, but he squeezes Steve’s fingers in a sign for him to carry on. That one finger pushes a little deeper, a second pressing in alongside it, and Bucky inhales through his teeth at the burn as his muscles stretch to accommodate Steve. He rocks his hips experimentally, pushing down onto Steve’s fingers, and they both gasp as they press in deeper to the second knuckle.

“Fuck. _Steve_. More…”

“Slowly, Buck. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Steve circles his fingers slowly, teasing Bucky’s rim, pressing in a little more then withdrawing, then pressing in even deeper and Bucky groans, his cock spurting out a thick bead of precome as arousal sparkles through him. Steve moves their linked hands, swipes the fluid up with his thumb, then draws both their hands up so he can lick it off. “You taste amazing.”

“I…” But Bucky’s words, whatever they might have been, are cut off by the twist of Steve’s wrist and the deep press of his fingers until they’re all the way in and Bucky is sitting back on his hand, rocking, groaning, wanton in his pleasure. His cock stands thick and proud, Steve’s beneath it, and the air is growing hot and thick with the scent of their sex. The sounds Bucky’s making can probably be heard outside, but neither of them think to care right now. Steve is too focused on Bucky’s body, the way he moves and the way he arches on Steve’s fingers, and Bucky is consumed by new and exhilarating sensation, riding Steve’s hand and gasping as a third finger presses in slowly, stretching Bucky wider.

“Want your cock,” Bucky mumbles, then his free hand comes up so he can shove his fist in his mouth, bite down on it to stop a cry as Steve twists his fingers, crooks them experimentally and brushes against a spot inside of Bucky that lights him up from the inside. His cock is dripping now, leaking onto Steve’s stomach, and a cry is stifled in his throat as Steve does it again, circling what must be his prostate with the tip of two gingers, the third pressing in insistently now.

“You ready for me?” Steve asks, his eyes dark and serious, and Bucky looks down at him and is momentarily captivated by how beautiful he looks. Perfect skin, clear blue eyes, chiselled jaw… but all Bucky sees is his Steve. The man he loves, serum or no serum. He nods, and Steve’s fingers withdraw slowly, teasing Bucky’s wet, slackened rim for a moment before Steve takes hold of his own cock and Bucky kneels up a little to allow him to press it between his cheeks.

“Steve,” he whispers. “I love you. I, _ohh fuck…”_ His words crack and trail off as the tip of Steve’s cock presses in, stretching him open, and then it’s inside and Bucky is gasping, head tipped back and chest heaving with exertion.

“Relax,” Steve’s hand caresses his chest, thumb drawing over his reddened nipple. “Breathe for me. You can take it, Buck. I know you can.”

When did Steve become so commanding? Bucky groans as he eases himself down another inch, takes Steve even deeper, pants as he rocks his hips experimentally to see just how it feels and _oh fuck_ it feels good. Steve, filling him up, their bodies joining, making Bucky forget everything but the here and now. Another inch pushes in and Bucky wants to cry out with the pleasure of it all, the burning stretch finally giving way to pure desire and he finally takes Steve in deep, all the way, until he’s sitting fully in Steve’s lap. He pants, revelling in how it feels, swaying a little until Steve steadies him.

“Love you, Bucky.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Something quiet, deep, almost ethereal has settled upon them. Bucky braces his hands on Steve’s chest, smiles gently when Steve’s own come up to cover them, and after taking a while just to enjoy being so full and stretched wide open he rides him slowly, rocking back and forth and finding a rhythm which Steve manages to match. Their breaths are harsh, in sync, and Bucky wants to lean down to kiss him but finds he’d prefer to watch Steve’s face instead as they fuck. No. As they _make love_ , because surely that’s what this is. Slow, gentle, Steve filling Bucky up so thick and hot, bodies joined in every way, Steve looking up at him like he hung the moon. Their skin is slick with sweat, droplets falling from Bucky’s nipples and clavicles to land on Steve’s chest and their conjoined hands, his hair sticking to his forehead and his bottom lip bitten raw to stop himself from moaning too loudly.

“God, Bucky,” Steve is moaning softly now, his hips jerking up and sweat beading on his forehead. “Close, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s close too, and he hasn't even touched himself. He doubles his efforts, watching Steve’s face flush and feeling his hands tighten then, to his shock, Steve grips him by the hips and lifts him bodily, off his cock, and Bucky cries out at the loss. “Steve, what-”

Hot, thick come spurts across his balls, the base of his cock, his hole, and Bucky stills, letting Steve finish all over his skin. It looks intense, Steve’s face screwed up with pleasure, then he's trembling through the aftershocks and reaching for Bucky, stroking his thighs, rubbing a hot palm up and down his erection. His eyes sparkle, sated yet still entirely focused on Bucky.

“C’mere,” Steve’s hands close over Bucky’s ass and he encourages him to move up his body. Confused, Bucky goes with it, still painfully hard and aching to come. Steve’s release is warm between his thighs and he wishes the other man had come inside him. Next time.

“What are you…” Bucky reaches down reflexively to grip Steve’s hair to steady himself because _what the fuck_ , Steve has moved down so Bucky is straddling his face then warm, moist breath coasts across his balls as he groans, shocked. “Steve, that's filthy, _don't!_ Oh, god, _uhh…_ ”

It's wet and hot and so goddamn intimate and Bucky moans loudly as Steve’s strong hands part his cheeks then his tongue is circling Bucky’s loosened hole and he's holding onto Steve’s hair for dear life. He's heard of men doing this to each other before but never, ever imagined Steve would want to do this to him. It seems like it should be dirty and all kinds of wrong, but it feels incredible and he can't help but rock his hips down for more. Steve licks a hot stripe across his loosened opening, presses his tongue inside, and Bucky’s hand moves to his own cock, stroking up and down, dripping at the tip. His eyes fall closed, his head tips back, Steve's tongue works in slow circles, pressing into him, circling, pressing in again. Bucky strokes himself harder, Steve grips his thighs as his whole body tenses, then white-hot pleasure is searing up his spine and he's crying out as his orgasm takes him. He clenches down on Steve's tongue and the two fingers that had pushed into him just as he started coming, shaking violently, stroking himself as his cock spurts thick streams of come over his own hand and across his thigh.

“Steve, Steve, _Steve…”_

The aftershocks ripple through him as he lies in Steve's arms, held close, kisses raining down on his mouth and throat. Steve cups his softening, sensitive cock, whispers into his ear that he loves him, and Bucky presses close, burying his face in Steve’s chest and allowing himself to be held. His body feels weakened, wrecked, in the best possible way.

Steve pulls blankets over them and Bucky kisses him until he can't any more, until his hand falls away from Steve’s face and his eyes fall closed of their own accord. The last thing he remembers is Steve, telling him quietly that he's in love with him.

His dreams are sweet, and beautifully realistic.

The next morning comes too fast. Bucky wakes slowly, lying on Steve’s chest, nude and entangled with the man he loves, and for some reason he feels like he could burst out crying. Steve is rubbing his shoulder in slow circles, lips pressed to Bucky’s temple, and he never wants to leave. Never wants this to end. They're too hot, sticky and sweaty, but it's all Bucky ever wanted. He cuddles close, not even caring that it might make him a little ridiculous, and tangles their legs together.

“Morning,” Steve murmurs and they kiss slowly, morning breath be damned. “Are you alright?”

“Better than alright. Are you?”

“Yes.” Steve squeezes him close. “I wish we hadn't wasted so much time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies distantly, still lost in his memories of last night. “You'd better make it up to me then, Cap. We only have a few years to make up for.”

“Ass.” Steve pinches him and Bucky smirks, wriggling closer. His eyes close, ten more minutes sleep impending, before the tent above them rattled violently and Steve starts, evidently back on the edge of sleep himself.

“Guys,” Gabe’s voice can be heard just outside their tent. “C’mon, let’s go. Half hour to go.”

Bucky’s breath leaves him in a sad sigh and he buries his face in Steve’s chest. Warm hands stroke his shoulders and back and Steve kisses his hair.

“Coming!” Steve calls and Bucky cringes. This is really ending. This perfect limbo he’s found himself in. He really has to move away from Steve, to get dressed, to go out there…

“Stop.” Steve tilts his chin up, kisses him on the mouth. “It’ll be okay, Buck. We got this.”

“Yeah.” Bucky watches Steve sit up, watches him reach for his clothing, then mechanically starts to do the same. The sick feeling is descending again and the childish, cowardly part rears its head and his mouth opens before he can stop it. “Steve. Let’s go, now. Just us. C’mon, we can go. Run away together. It’d be amazing, just the two of us, you know? You want that too, right?” The words are becoming desperate and he reaches for Steve. “You want that, right? You want…” _Me?_

“Bucky.” Steve settles on his knees in front of him, taking his outstretched hand and kissing his fingertips. “I want that more than anything. You, me, the rest of our lives. And it’ll happen, I swear it. But we gotta do this, you knew we do. We have to stop Zola.” He reaches up to cup Bucky’s cheek and a tear very definitely escapes, trickling down his cheek to wet Steve’s thumb. “ _I_ have to. I have to stop him, Buck, for what he did to you. Let me do that for you.”

All he can do is nod. They kiss, and it’s painful and over too fast. Steve leaves Bucky to dress alone, and he draws his knees to his chest and shivers. Zola. HYDRA. Brooklyn. Home. Steve. He aches between his legs, and his thighs shake as he dresses. Gabe shouts him again, he's late. He pulls on one of Steve’s t-shirts beneath his own, hopes it'll help.

Then it's out into the cold, and Steve smiles at him and hands him coffee and he does a wonderful job of pretending everything's okay. He passes his tardiness off as a hangover. He shoulders his rifle. He's ready.

He wishes he'd had the power to stop time.

 

***

 

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” The wind whips through Bucky’s hair as he stares down at the tracks. Steve is standing in front of him, a little to the right, and he looks at his friend’s profile for a long moment.

“Yeah, and I threw up?” Steve’s eyes don’t leave the tracks.

“This isn’t payback, is it?” Bucky can barely keep the tremor from his voice. Steve turns and throws him a fond, soft look over his shoulder.

“Now, why would I do that?”

Then, from below them, there’s the sound of wheels on a track and the train snakes into view.


End file.
